


House Call

by janelane93



Series: Attachment [2]
Category: X-Men (Comicverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Aftermath of Injury, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-22
Updated: 2019-07-22
Packaged: 2020-07-11 14:42:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19929751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/janelane93/pseuds/janelane93
Summary: Remy is hurt, and his doctor checks up on him.





	House Call

**Author's Note:**

> So I can't help myself really, I love the idea of Essex and Remy kind of pining for each other and maybe in a romantic way but both being so garbage at everything that they just can't get it together.

The Medlab is quiet and dark, the only illumination coming from nightlights strategically placed around the area to provide enough light to move round without bumping into anything, but not so much light as to disturb the slumber of the patients.

Visible through a doorway to the right is the sleeping form of Dr. Henry McCoy, the X-Men's resident MD, stretched out on a Hank-sized bed crammed into a small office, close enough to hear if any of his patients need anything during the night. Hank's massive chest rises and falls in a slow, steady rhythm. He only sleeps here if he has a patient to care for. And tonight, he does.

In the fifth medical bay, farthest from where Dr. McCoy sleeps, lies a young man with dark hair and pale skin. He is hooked up to various monitors and tubes, several IV drips pumping medication into his battered body. Bandages run the length of his long form, here, there, his left arm covered in a thick cast to protect the broken bones of his forearm. An oxygen tube snakes along high cheekbones and under his nose. The young man sleeps fitfully, caught between his exhaustion and the pain of his injuries, unable to truly rest. If only Hank would wake up and offer to increase the dose of whatever pain medication is being dripped slowly into him.

Suddenly, a light appears near the bed. The light grows in size and intensity until it is as large as a grown man, who steps through the light and into the medical lab and looks around dismissively, as if the advanced Shi'ar medical equipment as well as the state of the art Earth-based gear here in the lab is quaintly antiquated, like something one would find in a museum.

The man is tall and handsome,with salt and pepper hair and a neatly trimmed goatee. He is dressed in a dark gray fisherman cardigan, blue button down shirt visible underneath, with black slacks and loafers. He looks like he could be a college professor, or intellectual of some sort, or perhaps a doctor nearing retirement.

He steps closer to the young man in the bed, who seems, for the moment at least, to be asleep. He glances towards the doorway to Dr. McCoy's chamber. No worries there, the gargantuan physician will sleep peacefully thanks to the mysterious figure's telepathic abilities. This intruder will be as quiet as, well, a thief in the night, he thinks with a quirking of his lips.

With confidence, he picks up the medical chart lying on the bed at the patient's feet, glancing over the meticulous notes that Dr McCoy has been keeping.

When he has finished reading, he leans over and turns on the lamp next to the bed, pulling a capped vial out of the pocket of his sweater and sitting down on a chair by the bedside. He pops open the auxiliary port of the IV in the boy's right arm and inserts the tip of the vial into the opening, and the pinkish liquid contained inside begins to flow through.

"C'est froid."* a faint voice mumbles from the bed as the vial's contents reach his veins.

"Je suis desole."** replies the older man, in a soft voice.

"I t'ought you ain' care if I died?" the boy asks, his voice still weak, but a bit stronger now. The usurping doctor looks up to meet the tired eyes of Remy LeBeau, who three days ago suffered the worst injuries he had yet faced in the short few months he had been an X-Man. His life had very much been in danger, but thanks to Dr. McCoy's swift attention, he had been able to pull through.

Dr. Nathaniel Essex's cool blue eyes stare for a moment into the pain-filled red-on-black ones before dropping, only to check the progress of the vial, of course.

"We both know that was not true." He replies quietly.

"Y'sure do like lyin' t'me." the boy in the bed watches him watching the vial. He looks up, and reaches to adjust the oxygen tube, which has become caught in Remy's long hair.

"No," Essex shakes his head slightly as his hand settles to rest on the young man's thin shoulder, and he meets Remy's eyes again, "I don't."

"Den why y'do it so much?"

"I... don't know." He has enough humanity left in him to look ashamed at that.

A momentary silence as Remy closes his eyes and sighs.

"You come to fix me up, oui?" he asks.

"Yes," Essex replies, moving his hand to fuss at the blanket, adjusting them to better cover Remy's battered body, "It's something to help speed your recovery. Nothing that will be noticeable, of course, Dr. McCoy will be pleased with your progress, but not suspicious."

Remy opens his eyes and looks at the Doctor's profile as the older man finishes smoothing out the blankets and gives them a little pat, satisfied with their newfound tidiness.

"How'd y'know I was hurt?" he asks with a slight quirk to his eyebrow.

Essex leans back in the chair, folding his hands in his lap.

"You know I have been keeping an eye on you since your arrival here. It seemed wise to check up on you now and again, to be sure you were still alive. You do seem to have a rather... uncanny ability for getting yourself into trouble. Perhaps it is a secondary mutant power?" he asks with a quirk to his own brow and the ghost of a smile on his lips.

Remy's weak chuckle turns almost immediately into a wince. "Ow. Don' you go makin' dis poor boy laugh, it hurts too much."

Essex looks at the vial - empty now. He carefully removes it and seals the port on the IV line again.

"You are in pain?" he asks, with a frown.

"Oui," Remy replies, "Henri, he say I can 'ave more painkiller but I t'ought I didn' need it, and now he be sleepin'."

"Hmm," Essex examines the dosage on the IV monitor, and presses several buttons to adjust the amount, "That should be sufficient, though you would better tolerate thebaine than morphine."

"I'll try to work dat into a conversation wit' him, all casual an' all." Remy gives a roll of his eerie eyes.

"Well I see your injuries haven't affected your cheeky attitude in any way, thank heavens." A purse of lips as the older man turns to look at the patient.

Remy smiles a bit, eyelids growing heavy as the increased painkiller hits. Essex smooths already-smooth blankets along the boy's shoulder.

"Now, you must rest. You should feel much better in the morning."

The demon eyes are closed now, but the dark head nods ever so slightly as he sinks into a blissful cocoon of slumber. Essex reaches his hand up, and brushes the hair from Remy's sleeping face, tracing down his neck to pause momentarily at his jaw. He looks at the boy with fondness, then catches himself. He removes his hand, pockets the now-empty vial, and switches off the light by the bed. He stands to step through the portal which has reappeared at the foot of the bed.

The medlab is quiet and dark once again. In the adjacent room, Dr. McCoy emits a soft snore and rolls over to his side.

*****

* "That's cold."  
** "I'm sorry."


End file.
